The forest swallowed them, branches clawing, shadows twisting. Behind them, howls clashed—Shadowclaw tearing itself apart, Outsiders feasting on the chaos.
Elysia moved like fire through the underbrush, carrying Cathal with one arm, the healer limping at her side. The boy clung to her, face pale but eyes fierce. "We can't leave them!"
"If we stay, you die," Elysia growled. "And if you die, none of this matters."
The healer's breath rasped. "She's right. You are your father's heir—but also your mother's son."
Cathal frowned. "My mother's…?"
Before the healer could explain, a shadow slipped into their path. The collector, calm as though he'd been waiting.
Elysia dropped low, snarling, claws flexed.
He lifted his hands, mock-placating. "Peace, Ashen Wolf. I could take him by force, but I offer you this instead."
Her eyes narrowed. "Speak fast."
"The boy is born of two legacies," the collector said smoothly. "Shadowclaw blood from his father. Outsider blood from his mother. Only he can open the Blackwood Altar—the place where prophecy ends. Give him to me, and I end this war. Refuse, and I burn every pack until he's mine anyway."
Cathal stiffened, eyes wide. "That's not true. It can't be."
The healer whispered, shaking, "It is. Your mother was Outsider-born. You carry both lines."
Elysia's blood chilled. The boy she'd sworn to protect was the prize in a game larger than she'd imagined.
The collector stepped closer, his voice like silk. "You can't protect him forever. Hand him over, and I let you walk away. Free. No more chains. No more collar." His eyes gleamed. "No more curse."
For a moment, the temptation tore at her. To be free. To walk away. To let go of the burden she never asked for.
But Cathal's small hand gripped her fur, desperate. "Don't. Please."
Elysia's jaw clenched. She met the collector's gaze, her voice a growl. "You'll never have him. Not while I breathe."
The smile vanished from his face. "So be it."
He whistled.
Outsider wolves crashed through the trees, surrounding them in a tightening circle. The healer pressed Cathal into Elysia's arms, whispering fiercely: "Run. Take him to the altar yourself. If the boy is the key, then let him decide his fate—not the collector."
Elysia's heart thundered. The boy's trust, the healer's plea, the prophecy—all of it coiled around her like chains she couldn't shake.
The collector's voice rose over the howls. "Choose quickly, Ashen Wolf. Fight me here, and the boy dies. Flee, and I hunt you both to the ends of the earth."
Elysia bared her fangs, rage burning through her veins. "Then hunt," she snarled, scooping Cathal into her arms.
And with a roar, she leapt through the gap between two Outsider wolves, tearing into the night, the collector's furious howl chasing her into the darkness.
The night exploded with violence.
Elysia dropped low, snarling, claws flexed.